When a seed finally receives enough warmth and water, it can finally start growing, but when it does, it always grows in two directions. It grows shoots and roots. The little stem pops out from the ground, beneath a surface that appears only one-sided.
While we admire the outward beauty and fragility, the leaves absorbing the sunlight and the carbon dioxide in the air, beneath the surface, a whole different world is springing—or maybe digging would be a better word—to life. Beneath the surface, from the same seed, have sprouted roots, and even though they remain unseen by the surface world, they serve a purpose much… hehehe… deeper than we know.
Roots are dirty and damp, taking in nutrients from dead plants and wildlife, all through the medium of water. Aside from that water, roots, essentially are mingled in death. Depth and darkness are their home. You’re probably thinking, “Wow, this is getting gloomy.” Well, it kind of is. Turn back now if you don’t like gloom, but I promise you that something good will come of it.
Roots can be fibrous, branching out every which way beneath the ground. They can be fibrous, one massive root burrowing directly downward to find the best possible source of water. They can be bulbous or tuberous, like a potato or an onion, with tiny roots feeding one massive root-ish thing. How does that relate to spiritual growth? Well, do you learn things by tapping into one main source of wisdom, or do you have a diverse, complex social system from which you attain life? From where do you gain your depth, and what is that depth feeding? Are you a potato, whose depth fosters a centralized depth? Are you taproot that looks for one super deep source of knowledge? Are you fibrous, finding wisdom in the little things, the diverse things, a little bit closer to the surface yet not foreign to the concept of depth?
Taking things a little further, how does this depth show? What do people see? How do you breathe? How do you let the byproducts of your growth out? Eventually, growth will force old things out. Eventually, nutrients and old, damaged, decayed parts go away to be broken down, recycled into the dirt, back into their primary building blocks, yet again to be used as nutrients for new, growing beings. The same goes for us. As our minds expand, old ideas are expelled from our minds, ideas we now see didn’t work as well as we initially thought, ideas that weren’t built to last, behaviors that could not be maintained.
It’s okay if you aren’t the most outgoing person, or if the span of your growth doesn’t always breach the surface like an oak tree. Maybe you show up more like grass, something small, but nonetheless valuable. People will recognize that, and people who know what growth looks like will be able to see if your growth is being hindered by some external force. Maybe the dirt is eroding beneath you, or maybe you’re not seeing enough sunlight. Maybe the brighter side of life hasn’t met your eyes as often as would be conducive to your growth, to your thriving in life, and that isn’t always up to you. Not always can the plant be blamed for the ground in which it was sown.
In the very end, the reason for all of this interaction between different parts of this social-spiritual biosphere we’re in is this: grow up, and make more—or it might be appropriate to say this: “Be fruitful, and multiply.” I’m taking that phrase way out of context, but think about it! Jesus compared our spiritual lives so many times to something agricultural, in one specific instance, seeds. Not only He, but David the king, made mention of someone following the paths of righteousness being “like a tree planted by the rivers of water, which brings forth his fruit in his season.” So what is this “fruit,” and how do we bring it forth?